thursday

after

the clothes seem beaten,

still crumpled in the seats where we sat

and tipped over chairs cover

bits of paper ripped and thrown

that had fallen like ugly snow 

to rest on the floor where we fought

there are lines running in cold parallel

evidence to add to the embers 

people always seem to be laughing 

outside, after 

evidence of a life once lived 

where all you did was long for this one

where you forgot to factor in

the dinners left half-made

the drinks whose hands left them alone on the counter

because they had other things to do 

the dreams, nightmares, where you don’t come back

the drug-like quality, the fucking addiction of it all

the desperation that drips like water torture 

extends shaking tired hands to try, fail, to turn it off 

the dominos that fall too easily

set up for failure in your fragile heart

the dread that comes too quickly

prepared for punishment soon to start

the anxiety that seeps in slowly, seductively 

whispers the agony of the Bad Part 

but you don’t think to leave 

you don’t think to fix the chairs

or clean up the ugly snow 

all you think about is where 

where did he go